


Tear Drop

by RainbowPools



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post Traumatic Stress, Rape Recovery, Referenced Non-Con - Freeform, fluff piece
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:00:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21974719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainbowPools/pseuds/RainbowPools
Summary: Not much pushes Besithia to tears.
Relationships: Verstael Besithia/Ardyn Izunia
Comments: 2
Kudos: 32





	Tear Drop

**Author's Note:**

> This was born from an inexorable desire to write present tense, and an unnecessarily strong love for our blonde manic scientist. Enjoy!

Sixteen. Sixteen days Besithia has been missing and Ardyn has just about lost his wits because of it. It had to have been a kidnapping, as Besithia logic delineates that the scientist wouldn’t abandon his loyalty to the empire without warning. He’s a clever little thing as well, innovative and independent so it would make sense that others want his information. A ransom was never demanded, and Ardyn can’t wrap his head around why the empire’s technology has failed to locate him thus far. So,when Ardyn receives a call from Uldor claiming they may have found Besithia’s keeping, he’s quick to dress and meet up with them.

Invading the facility that sequestered Besithia isn’t easy. It’s well armed and adorned with security, not to mention in the middle of no where. Ardyn takes pleasure in demonifying each and every staff he encounters, breath hitching every time Uldor reports a _No sign of Besithia._ Ardyn kicks a corpse he just made, wiping his gloves on his coat and trying to regulate his chaotic breathing. If he is to find Verstael, he must remain in control, but the fear and rage fighting for surface under his skin make quelling the scourge a challenge. He exits the room he was in, hurrying down the meandering hall outside. The complex is dark, having gone into lock down as soon as Ardyn and Uldor invited themselves in, but it seems to be emulating the infantry in some shape or form.

“Izunia, do you copy?” Caligo grunts on radio.

Ardyn taps a button on his radio and speaks into it, “I read Commander.”

“I found Besithia,” Caligo says, “Meet me in the lobby.”

“How is he?” Ardyn breathes.

“His condition is unfavorable,” Caligo states, prompting Ardyn to shadow step his way back up to the facility’s first floor. He leaves the basement behind, heart slamming in his chest as he darts to the foyer. He loiters before the sliding glass entry doors. It’s warm and sunny outside, greenery springing up around the world’s expanses in summer’s coming. He can’t will his heart or nerves to still, swaying on his feet and swinging his hands. Caligo appears on the tiled floor about ten minutes later, flanked by a septette of imperial soldiers. He has a bundle of towels tucked against his chest, and upon further examination, Ardyn can see a small cowlick of blonde. Ardyn drops a curse.

“They were definitely after his knowledge. Judging by his condition, they didn’t get it,” Caligo hands Ardyn the cocoon of towels. Ardyn unravels one, enough to see Besithia’s face, and swallows. His heart sinks to his feet and he has to chew the inside of his cheek to keep from making an indignant noise. Verstael’s blonde locks are stained ash brown in some areas, and it rains in tangled strands in his face. One eye is swollen purple and the other closed, his lips chapped and his bottom one is near split open. Ardyn gives his body a quick once over, his stomach churning. Bruises in varying shades litter his body. There’s blood, both cold and dry, and hot and wet, tainting his pale pink skin. Mostly it runs between his legs and down his thighs, but there are lacerations and scars with equal gore on his back and torso.

“Alert the medical team immediately,” Ardyn tucks Verstael’s unconscious form back into the towels and holds him to his chest.

“Already done,” Caligo nods, and follows Ardyn from the building. The two scramble into the helicopter they took with their platoon of soldiers, Ardyn finding a seat at the back. Caligo sits next to him, eyeing Besithia. Verstael stirs in Ardyn’s lap, lurching forward and coughing. He spits blood onto the towel he’s buried in, coughing a few times more and resting back against Ardyn’s chest. His breathing is heavy and Caligo hastens to fetch him some water. Caligo kneels before Ardyn, holding the clear glass to Besithia’s lips and helping him drink.

“Not snowing yet? I thought Christmas may have past with how long you took,” Verstael comments. He can feel Ardyn’s chest huffing furiously and makes out the worry flickering in Uldor’s eyes. So despite his voice is hoarse and his body screaming with pain, he quips to show them he’s okay. He’s chugging the water as though his life depends on it. Ardyn’s breaths slow a tad and Caligo settles a hand on his knee.  
“There was an error in the empire’s computer. Your location was inaccessible until we found and eliminated it,’ Ardyn tightens the towels around Verstael to prevent from suffocating him in a hug. Besithia closes his eyes to hide how they water, he insures his sob comes out as a whiny moan, and complains of tired before fatigue snatches him back to unconsciousness.

... ... 

Besithia is stubborn by nature, and just as prideful. He doesn’t understand the sixteen days he spent captured, the constant beating and rape simply because he wouldn’t spill his scientific secrets, and he’s determined to ignore all of it. It’s hard though, because the medics want him to sleep and that only brings nightmares. He wakes up his second night back home, teeth bared in a silent growl and fingers digging into his blankets. His breathing is heavy from the nightmares, and he shakes his head to rid his mind of all these awful images. His hips, thighs, and knees are sore to the point of tears, and his back and shoulders complain just as much. He staggers to his feet, exiting the room and heading to the infantry lounge in search of food or drink to calm him.

“Oh, hello Chief,” Ardyn sits up from laying on the couch, having heard Besithia enter. Besithia looks so small. He’s always been tiny, but to Ardyn he looks like anyone or anything could crush him to dust.

“You’re up?” Verstael blinks, bobbing his chin in Ardyn’s direction. He shivers, not from cold, and glares at the floor. He’s scared, scared of something he’s no longer apart of and he hates it. He can almost feel those hands running up and down his chest, tugging his hair, parting his legs, and he wishes the dread would leave.

“But of course,” Ardyn flips his hair, “Someone has to watch over you, and though you like to **pretend** you’re nocturnal, I’m the only one in Niflheim who **genuinely** doesn’t need sleep.” On normal occasion that would elicit a smile from Besithia, a slight quirk of the lips that would make Ardyn’s heart swoon. Tonight he doesn’t do such, only glances from one end of the room to the other while snorting. Ardyn restrains his disappointment, his worry.

“Did the medics notify you of my damage?” Verstael asks, face twisting in discomfort. Surely he’d be sick upon hearing the answer, but Ardyn nods. Besithia isn’t one to be coddled anyways. His expression falls, cheeks flushing red and sapphire eyes swimming up. He disregards Ardyn then, hobbling into the kitchen. Bile swishes in his stomach at Ardyn knowing what all he went through, and he has to empty it into the trash.

“Verstael, it’s okay,” Ardyn’s hand lands on his shoulder. He’s not sure whether to say it doesn’t matter or he doesn’t mind, so he remains quiet.

“Yes,” Besithia is still hunched over the trashcan. He stands and gesticulates as he speaks, “There are many a ways to assert control, from physical abuse to psychological manipulation. It doesn’t matter, the goal is to draw a submissive reaction from the target. My situation is of little novelty.” He’s trying to rationalize why he was raped. Ardyn looses a piece of his heart at the prospect. He covets to brace Verstael in his arms, but he knows he’d rather him not. Verstael goes for the brandy in the refrigerator and drinks. He eases into a chair. All he can think of is what he’s been through.

_“Don’t you think you’re a bit too soft to suffer?” one of his captors had said, wedging a knee between Verstael’s clenched thighs and probing up. “Why not save yourself the trouble and explain the cunning behind all your brilliant ideas? We both want the same thing, the fall of Lucis,” he drags the tip of his blade across Verstael’s chest, creating a rivulet of blood._

Verstael recalls how that man had reduced him to shame, a curled up pile of sweat, blood, and tears. _Please don’t. I beg you leave me alone. I have no intention of cooperating no matter what you do, so you best stop now._ His own voice echos in his head, joined by his cries and the sick mirth of the others.

“Verstael,” Ardyn gazes at him, hands on his shoulders. Verstael notices he’s almost hyperventilating, sweat trickling down his frame. “Apologies. I’m in quite a bit of pain,” Besithia rolls his wrists and shoulders, then his hips, getting a pop from each.

“You look awful,” Ardyn remarks, “Shall I take you to bed?”

Verstael’s lips part as he balks, “I.. suppose.” He doesn’t care to tell Ardyn how afraid he is, so he’ll have to deal with the nightmares himself.

“May I?” Ardyn reaches out as to carry him. Verstael could’ve flushed as he nods. Ardyn scoops him into strong arms and carries him to his room. He slides Verstael in bed and pulls the sheets over him.

... ... 

By the time Verstael’s awake again he wishes Ardyn would have stayed with him. He’s drenched in sweat and finds breathing difficult. He takes a bath, scrubbing excessively hard to try and subdue the gross feeling encompassing him. The feeling of fingers and blood tracing every part of him. He dismisses the nurses sent to help him ready, dressing, brushing his teeth, and combing his hair himself. He approves himself in the mirror. His skin is red and puffy from all the scrubbing, but his hair is back to that shiny platinum blonde. Even with the stitches and bandages he almost feels like himself again; except, himself wasn’t a torture and rape victim. He _was_ a skilled. No nonsense, independent, scientist and doctor who could create anything, who served the empire, who thought of nothing but his craft and the lovable old Adagium that had wiggled into his heart. No, fretting over pain and violation simply won’t do. He meets Uldor in the kitchen, as both he and Ardyn have lingered in the infantry to look after Verstael. This is the first Verstael has seen of Caligo since the rescue, though.

“Hmmmm?” he raises an eyebrow.

“Good morning Chief,” Caligo’s voice is soft, almost cooing, as he works the Keurig, “Ebony?”  
Verstael hums a Yes and sits at the table, “Where’s Izunia?”

“He went to the store. I believe he wanted to buy you something,” Caligo answers, “How are you?”

“Sore with an extra modicum of pain in my legs and back. I deduct they’ll take the longest to recover. A minor annoyance.”  
Caligo knows Verstael is hiding a great deal of pain but doesn’t push it. Instead he opens the cabinet for sugar packets and feigns accidentally knocking out a canister of painkillers. The canister rolls across the floor until tapping against Besithia’s boot. He picks them up and shoots Caligo a look. Caligo only opens the sugar packets.

“Were you informed of my damage?” Verstael holds his breath and examines the pain killers.

Caligo shrugs, “Izunia didn’t tell me much.” He sweetens the coffee and passes a cup to Verstael. Besithia takes two painkillers with his drinks, relieved. 

... ... 

The thing Ardyn brings from the store is a turtle plush, and Verstael ignores it for the next week. By that time he is allowed to return to his laboratory and research. He feels safe and home there, but his darker memories invade him still. He finds it hard to concentrate as he raises a flask of silver liquid over a bowl. His intent is to pour but his hands won’t stop trembling. He lets a curse slip, shaking his head. He can still see a licentious smile in the corner of his mind, still hear his own screams, still feel a knife dig into the small of his back, still taste his own blood, still feel hands groping his small body. A crack starts him from his flashback, and he looks to see the flask had slipped from his quaking fingers and broke. Silver liquid spills over the bowl and onto the table. He falls to his knees, the makings of a mental breakdown pushing a moan from his body. He sways on his knees. How is he to get anything done like this?

“Chief?” Ardyn saunters into the room, frowning at the mess and the clearly defeated Besithia. He takes a patch of napkins and scrubs away the mess, then he kneels before Verstael. “I think you need to talk to someone,” he whispers,

“I needn’t speak to anyone,” Verstael snaps.

“Then please, Verstael, give yourself time,” Ardyn rests his hands on Verstael’s shoulders and squeezes. His voice is soft and honeyed, “I understand this is new to you, so get it through that big brain of yours that it’s normal to feel what you do.”

Verstael drops his head.

Ardyn lifts his chin, “You’re a doctor, surely you know the importance of mental recovery. You can’t ignore these things, so let them pass. You won’t be any less Verstael Besithia if you cry. I promise.”

Verstael is silent for quite a time, pink bottom lip bobbing and eyelashes fluttering. He gazes into Ardyn’s eyes, pools of concerned gold, and gives. His body pitches forward into Ardyn’s chest with a strangled sob. His hands are tremulous as he clutches Ardyn’s jacket, blue eyes rolling back. He squeezes them shut, but it doesn’t stop the flow of tears. He hiccups, burying himself in Ardyn. If not for the severity of the situation, Ardyn would’ve marveled at how Besithia managed to make himself even smaller. Instead he cradles him as tightly as he can, holding him between his arms and legs and rocking them both. Ardyn won’t let anything else happen to Verstael, as he loves the mad scientist a bit too much. He shows this in how close he holds him, how he strokes his hair, how he kisses every inch of his wet, freckled face. And Verstael lets it happen, even reciprocates Ardyn’s affections, because he trusts him, and loves him just as much.


End file.
